


day twenty three: working together

by Hannah (hannahoftheinternet)



Series: HartmonFest 2019 [23]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Battle, Brain Damage, Exhaustion, Fights, Hartmon Fest 2019, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nosebleed, POV Cisco Ramon, POV Third Person, Pre-Relationship, Present Tense, Serious Injuries, Team Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahoftheinternet/pseuds/Hannah
Summary: In pursuit of a dangerous metahuman, Cisco collapses, but Hartley is there to help him out.





	day twenty three: working together

**Author's Note:**

> TW: blood, injuries, food, medications, death.

Cisco fires off a blast of blue energy, but the metahuman dodges knowingly out of the way, another fireball bursting to life in his palm. “Come on, man!” Cisco hollers at the guy, who giggles maniacally. “Who do you think you are, the Human Torch?” Flame zips by his ear, and he whirls away in time to keep his face from melting, but not before a few chunks of his hair disintegrate into ash. “Oh, that’s it!”

Hoping against hope that this works, he summons the most potential power that he possibly can, crosses his arms at the wrist, and throws out a massive shockwave of blue light. The Human Torch wannabe sails through the air, knocking over a park bench and slamming into an oak tree.

He’s never done that before. A burst of energy that huge… was like something out of a movie. It never hurts this much in movies, though. Cisco’s head swims, and his breath comes in shallow gasps, tasting like metal and trying to yank his lungs apart. He drops to his knees, unable to support himself, his kneecaps making painful contact with the paved road under him. The park slides in and out of focus. He presses his gloved fingers to his temples, trying to force out the massive headache that’s currently making the world tilt.

“Hey!” comes a vague voice from his left.  _ Oh, great, someone’s watching me have an aneurysm _ . “Hey! Cisco!”

Even with the pounding headache building in his head, he registers that this person called him  _ Cisco _ and not  _ Vibe _ . Two things about that are interesting, but his brain hurts so much that he can’t really figure it out.

His legs give out, and he’s convinced he’s going to knock himself out on the pavement, when someone catches him and, inexplicably, touches his upper lip.

“Hi,” says Hartley, and if he says more, Cisco doesn’t hear it, because he’s busy slipping into unconsciousness.

***

He’s not quite sure where he is when he opens his eyes, so he sits up in a panic, and instantly regrets it, because he slams his head very hard into something, and the something goes “Ow-what-the-fuck” and Cisco automatically says “Oh, fuck, sorry.”

They regard each other for a moment, Hartley’s expression one of polite concern, Cisco’s heart beating just a little bit faster on seeing that face.

“I brought you coffee,” Hartley says, holding out a mug. “And some Advil. And some cookies.”

“Cookies?” There’s a low table next to him, bearing, as promised, a couple cookies and a bottle of pills. “How long was I out?” He’s still groggy, and fresh pain lances through him where his forehead made contact with Hartley’s.

“Not too long. An hour, give or take fifteen minutes. You passed out pretty close to my apartment, so I kind of--” he waves the hand not holding the mug, and Cisco relieves him of that piece of kitchenware-- “dragged-slash-carried you here. I called Caitlin, but she didn’t answer, and I didn’t want to move you further in case you had brain damage. Your nose is bleeding, by the way.”

Cisco touches his upper lip, and his fingers come away bright red. “Tissues?”

“On it.” Hartley gets up off the couch and vanishes into the next room, giving Cisco time to contemplate.

First, he feels for anything that might be broken, bruised, or blemished. His kneecap is sore, probably already turning purple, and his head is still pounding, but he seems otherwise okay. The nosebleed is nothing new. It happens when he overuses his powers. The fainting, though. That’s concerning. That’s never happened before. He’ll have to ask Caitlin for an MRI when he gets back to S.T.A.R. Labs.

Hartley comes back with a wad of tissues in each hand, some wet and some dry. “You have a blood crust on your upper lip. That’s what the wet ones are for.”

“Thanks,” Cisco says meekly, taking a few tissues and swiping at his Cupid’s bow. “You… helped.”

“We’re friends, right?” Hartley’s smile is crooked, and it sets Cisco’s heart doing backflips even in his weakened state. “You would have done the same for me.”

Thing is, he would have. Last year, he would have gone  _ fuck it _ and left Hartley alone with his brain damage, but things have changed. They’ve both changed. And yeah, Cisco guesses that they’re friends now.

“The meta?” he says, before he can say something embarrassing. “Did I get him?”

Hartley hesitates, and then shakes his head. “He was stunned for a while, I guess, but I saw on the news that he torched a Wendy’s near the train station. No one was killed, thank god.”

Cisco swings his legs over the edge of the couch and takes two Advils with a long sip of coffee. “I have to go get him.”

“No way,” Hartley says, putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him grounded. Cisco smacks him away. “I think you have a concussion, Cisco, and at the very least, your energy is totally drained.”

“Hart, this guy killed eleven people.” The nickname comes out without Cisco’s permission, but he barrels on. “I have to go get him before he hurts anyone else. He’s my responsibility.”

Hartley sets his jaw. “Then I’m going with you.”

***

It takes a lot of wheedling from Hartley to get Cisco to eat the cookies and drink the coffee and “take care of your fucking nosebleed.” The cookies are honestly pretty good, and the coffee is so-so. Hartley says he makes better Earl Gray.

It takes a whole lot more to get Cisco to let him go with. “What if you pass out again, huh?” Hartley demands. “Then the guy sets you on fire and you die.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” Cisco says stubbornly, pulling on his gauntlets, which Hartley apparently stole and hid while Cisco was recuperating. Didn’t take much effort to find them stuffed in Hartley’s closet, along with the Vibe glasses.

“How do you know?”

This continues for at least half an hour while Cisco suits up and clicks on the news to locate the discount Human Torch. Hartley suits up too, against Cisco’s insistence, and says rather helpfully, “There’s screaming five blocks from here. I bet it’s your guy.”

“Something that starts with a V,” Cisco supplies. “Vasquez? Valdez? Are you sure I can’t take you out of coming?” He’s come up with an admittedly brilliant plan that involves subterfuge and sneakiness, and this is step one.

“Yep,” Hartley says. “I have to make sure you don’t die.”

“What’s with this sudden urge to protect me?”

That gives Hartley pause for just a few seconds, and Cisco silently praises himself on his distraction techniques. “I’m bored. I have to do something with my time.”

“So you decided to embark on a suicide mission with your former archenemy? Wow, your life must be horrendously boring.”

Hartley doesn’t answer, just pulls his hood up over his hair and tugs on his gloves. “I’m ready to go when you are.”

_ Plan get-Hartley-off-my-case is go _ . “Yeah, I just gotta use the bathroom. Where is it?”

Hartley points him into one of the rooms of the small apartment wordlessly. The apartment is so small, in fact, that it only takes Cisco a few strides to get there. He turns the handle, steps in, and shuts the door behind him. Surveying the tiny bathroom with its barely-there shower and micro sink, he wonders if there’s even enough room to open a breach, decides that there is, and trains his attention on creating a portal. His temples throb as the gateway opens, and he’s in the process of stepping through it when arms lock around his waist and Hartley whispers, “Surprise.”

Cisco should have locked the door.

***

In his distraction, he overshoots, and the breach spits him out across the street from the museum. “What the fuck, Piper?” he says, switching automatically into alias mode and rounding on his companion. Hartley has let him go, and now takes a few cautious steps down the street.

“You were trying to leave without me.” Hartley folds his arms. “Where are we?” Cisco points at the museum sign, and Hartley snorts. “Yeah, obviously. Where in relation to Vasquez-or-Valdez?”

“Use your super hearing and find out,” snaps Cisco. He doesn’t expect Hartley to actually listen to him, but after a few seconds of apparently intent listening, the Pied Piper informs him that Vasquez-or-Valdez is currently robbing an appliance store two blocks away. “Man, this guy doesn’t get tired. Okay, hold on.” He opens another breach, his head protesting aggressively, and Hartley hugs him again. “You could just hold on to my arm or something.”

“I feel more secure like this.” Cisco rolls his eyes and dives through the breach.

They corner the guy in the store he’s robbing. The poor clerk is having a weird day: first a flaming weirdo comes in and starts robbing the damn store, and then two disgruntled superheroes step out of a blue swirling portal and demand the flaming weirdo put his hands up.

A fireball sails over Hartley’s head, singeing the top of his hood and sailing out the open doors. Hartley slings a burst of vibrational energy in return, and Cisco has to marvel at his grace. He’s like a ballet dancer or a martial artist, where Cisco just angles his body and hopes for the best. He misses, though, and cracks open a display of engagement rings.

He turns to the clerk, who is white with horror, and says apologetically, “I can pay for that later.” The clerk nods in terror and Hartley rejoins the fight.

The metahuman is hot to the touch, as Cisco discovered when he went to shove the guy over a display case and found that his gauntlets came away smoking. “Don’t touch him!” he shouts, seeing that Hartley is getting in position to elbow Vasquez-or-Valdez in the face. Surprised, Hartley reaches out behind him and smashes the guy over the head with a heavy piece of decorative marble. Down he goes, and Cisco, reaching into his pocket, discovers that he has a power-dampening bracelet for precisely this occasion. He looks to his companion quickly, but all Hartley says is, “He’s all yours,” and Cisco gingerly snaps the bracelet around the unconscious man’s wrist.

“Well,” Hartley says after a pause, “would you like to get coffee with me later?”

“I’m still mad at you for ruining my plan to ditch you,” Cisco says, blood roaring in his ears, “but on Saturday? Yeah. I would.”

Hartley’s head tilts. “You’re bleeding.”

Cisco can taste blood on his lips, and the world flickers out as he falls.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really proud of this!
> 
> Comments are a writer's best friend!


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